


Musings of an Ancient God

by dairesfanficrefuge_archivist



Category: Highlander - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-09-05
Updated: 1998-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-18 06:05:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11868234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dairesfanficrefuge_archivist/pseuds/dairesfanficrefuge_archivist
Summary: Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived atDaire's Fanfic Refuge. Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onDaire's Fanfic Refuge's collection profile.





	Musings of an Ancient God

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Daire's Fanfic Refuge](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Daire%27s_Fanfic_Refuge). Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Daire's Fanfic Refuge's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/dairesfanficrefuge/profile).

Musings of an Ancient God by Quicksilver

_Musings of an Ancient God_

By: Quicksilver 

* * *

Standard Disclaimers apply here 

NOTE: This is the FINAL Shayana story (I promise!) This deals with Methos' reaction to taking her head. 

I'm looking for a good beta reader, if anyone's interested. 

Methos and medicine comes from the episode 'Indiscretions' 

* * *

_The angels are crying._

Outside, the rain beats down on the parched earth with a punishing vengeance. More than anything, I long for it to cease. For my own tears are drowned out by the tempest outside my window. 

You'd think I'd learn. The oldest man alive, and yet here I am, trapped like the fragile creature that I am. My life is not fragile - no, it is the essence of the man that will break first. It's broken before, but this time I wonder if there will be enough pieces for me to glue back together. 

So many deaths, some of them mine. Sanity is such a thin straw for me to grasp at, and sometimes, I slip. MacLeod only knows of the Horseman incident, but there have been others. Times when I have lost myself to the Darkness within. We all have that dark side to us, but mine will destroy me if I don't fight against constantly. There's so much pain and rage for it to feed off of. 

I thought I was immune, but then I met her. Alexa. Strange that the world's oldest man would fall in love with a dying woman. They're all so short-lived, but I had the misfortune to chose one who's life was limited even by Mortals' standards. 

I am immortal. I am a God among men. One day one of my people will rule the entire world, the winner of the Prize. Try as I might, I haven't been able to succumb to Death. Who knows? Perhaps I am the one who is destined for the final battle. 

I look back at what I have written, and can't help but be amused. My people? Since when have I had a people? People implies unity, but the immortals are only unified in one thing - survival. As for mortals, what of them? I told MacLeod, I can't even remember my real name, my tribe. It would have to have been a tribe, that long ago. 

Still the rain thunders outside the window, and I am reminded of the Ancient Gods. I had worshipped them once, and even been one of them. Strange that it comes back now. There are so many periods in life where NOTHING HAPPENS. The sheer boredom is enough to drive a man mad. I've seen more friends than I care to think of take that route. 

Throughout it all, I have survived. I am the ultimate survivor. Or the ultimate loser. Hamlet applies well to me. 'To sleep, perchance to dream,' he mourns, and I mourned with him. I have a duty left that I must attend to, but that does not prevent me from wanting IT - the end of my pain and suffering... 

Duty? MacLeod would laugh to hear me speak of such thinks. But it's the truth. More than anything.... There's a lot of more than anything's. I am the oldest creature on earth. Even the redwoods are young enough to be my great-grandchildren. And they are. 

Everything on the Earth is my child. I have seen the birth and death of nations, old ideas become new again, and amazing advances. All of these are my triumphs - their failures are my failures. I must guard them. Imagine that. The ever-cynical Methos admitting to that simple truth. I am the Ultimate Watcher, yet I always interfere. 

And interfere I have. Names come to mind, Immortals who I have fostered towards the Prize. I don't want it. I don't have the energy to live forever, the fire needed to manage all the power ever accumulated by the Immortals. So I choose. They are my hope, my legacy. And the chosen ones keep dying, taking a part of me with them. Ylsa, Darius, Shayana, Rebecca - they've all died on me. The list goes on forever, until the faces blur in my long memory. And now all I have is MacLeod. 

MacLeod, the Highlander. One of two I know, Duncan seems to be the better choice. Connor is too brash, a touch too violent. He'd be incapable of achieving the Prize and holding it well. The Prize is not the ultimate objective - it is the way it is to be managed; with wisdom and love ideally. Connor is not that bad a choice, though. What would have happened if the Kurgan had won? I shuddered to think. Maybe I should rethink that. By killing Kurgan and Kane, he has done the world a greater service than it will ever realize. 

But Duncan...the forever boyscout. I've seen him, watched him for years. He is the best hope - not the only one, but the best. His swordmanship is wonderful, but it is his heart that makes him the best. 

I remember the Dark Quickening. Perhaps it was necessary. Duncan needs to know what true is evil is to understand it. Then he can have real compassion. He will need it, if he is THE ONE. 

Funny. We've always called the Winner, THE ONE, but I'm not sure it's right. The winner will become everyone who has ever played the game. I wish I could be there, to be able to talk to Richie and Byron and Shayana again...soon enough. The Gathering is here, and the Game has changed. Ancients fall to the young, and I have come out of hiding to associate with a few chosen people. Methos the Elusive Elder, I am no more. I suppose that part of me died when I met MacLeod. I am drawn towards him, like a moth to the flame. As were Amanda and Richie, and so many others.... 

I miss them so much. Each of them helped to create the man I am today, yet they take so much of me with them when they die. And they all die. So much of my life is based on death - hell, I WAS Death for a while. When will I be able to reconcile myself with the fact that they ALL will die? I'm the world's oldest man, and I still haven't learned that simple lesson. 

And I can't help but get involved with them. And it hurts, especially when I have to kill one of my own. Shayana....she loved me. And I killed her. She loved me too much. I noticed. She couldn't fight me. The passion wasn't there. And her eyes. I will never forget those dark eyes, sometimes laughing, mostly not. I killed her. My God. There was nothing I could do. MacLeod will be the One if I have anything to do with it. And I killed her because of it. She was too damn good. Forever after I will be trapped with her memory, knowing there is nothing I can do to make amends. 

I was a healer for a while, a doctor. My way of trying to keep them with me for just a while longer. Didn't work, then. Maybe after 'Adam' is done with, I can return to medicine. Yes, that sounds like a good idea. Perhaps by saving a life, I can make it to Shayana. 

Funny. Return to medicine? Where did that come from? 

Or maybe I should teach. 'Sylvia Vanen' had the gift, and her students were lucky to have her. By killing her, I took away one of the world's greatest teachers. There is no way I can repair the damage I have done. It's foolish to think I can take her place, but maybe I should. 

The wind is calming down, and the rain lessens. The sky is still gray, and the ground will be wet for days to come. And I watch, as ever, hoping to see a rainbow. 

* * *

Methos closed his journal and ran his hand over his cover. He was in such a melancholy mood that he'd take his own head, if he wasn't careful. Depression, he guessed. Happened ever now and then, especially after the death of someone he cared for. 

Shayana. His oldest surviving student, and she was gone now. He had taken her head, HE had. And it wasn't because she had gone insane. She had told him, quite matter-of-factly, that she was a Hunter, and all other Immortals were the prey. She had made him choose, and he had chosen MacLeod. He would never forget the look of betrayal that had crossed her face. 

She was the oldest headhunter, and her power had overwhelmed him. He felt the Quickening, and with it, her intense love for him. Skillwise, Shayana should have beaten him easily. But she couldn't kill him. 

He remembered her dark eyes, and wondered where she was now. Did she understand why? He doubted it. Shayana had never been understanding. She'd just been...herself. 

He felt the buzz in his mind and turned to watch MacLeod enter. 'Are you okay?' MacLeod asked. 

'No,' Methos answered, running his hands over the journal. The hieroglyphics spelled out her name. He was doing his own, personal close-up. 

MacLeod sat down beside him. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 

'No more than I am, MacLeod,' Methos answered. He felt his eyes fill with tears. When was the last time he cried? Alexa. 

Duncan reached out and hugged him, and Methos let five thousand years worth of grief loose. It was terrible to see, this soul-wrenching agony. And MacLeod held on, waiting for the tempest to abate. 

'The sun will rise, again, Methos,' MacLeod said, not sure where this was coming. 'And your endless night will end.' 

Methos looked at him, his tears stalling. 'That's what Shayana used to say - 'I know that the nought must end, and that the sun will rise.'' 

'And she was right,' MacLeod promised. 'She was right.' 

THE END 

* * *

FEEDBACK! FEEDBACK! 

© 1998   
Please send comments to the author! 

09/05/1998 

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